A blog about games (reviews and analysis), music, and stories that range from serious to incredibly silly.

Saturday, September 29, 2012

A Different Old House Story

This was a story I wrote for an English class last year. Perhaps not surprisingly, it was too goofy for my English teacher, so I got a somewhat lower grade than if I had written a story in which nothing happens except a guy listening to pipes go clonk and looking at the snow while thinking about how his life sucks and also lots of symbolism or something.

I never really liked big houses. So big and looming and threatening and... big. To be totally honest, they give me creeps more than my aunt Helga during swimsuit season. So, as you may imagine, when Billy Joe Williams challenged me to sneak into Old Man Grenard's house, I was not delighted.

B.J. Williams is honestly kind of a jerk. I mean, sure he paints and plays cello and cries when you beat him up, but underneath that all he's a real misanthrope. He's a no-do-gooder who hides behind the facade of being a completely perfect person.

Anyway, when B.J. asked me to sneak in Grenard's house with his nasally little voice and his flip-floppy blonde hair, I was not really excited. But, you know what? I had to do it. It was my patriotic duty. And besides, I couldn't say no and look like I was scared in front of Nancy Cleveland.

So, B.J. asked me, in his timid little voice, to sneak in Grenard's place. He said that the ol' coot had stolen something from him. I wasn't really paying attention, I was busy watching Nancy's hair swoosh around as she beat the lights out of Ernie Winkledink.

So, I said yes to B.J.'s proposition, but I made sure to give the back of his neatly pressed shirt a good glare when he walked away.

But hey, I figured, I didn't actually have to do it, right? I could say I did and that Grenard burned whatever it was that B.J. wanted or something, right? Wrong. Of course, when the word got around that I was going into a big house, everybody wanted to come watch, including Nancy. So, I was set. I had to go. That was it. Zip. Nada. Zilch. Gaflooie.

I realize that up 'till now I really haven't given you much description of anything. You see, I'm saving up all of my descriptionizing energy for my description of Grenard's horrible house. Here goes: Thee three story house rose sharply into the sky, its pointed red roof stabbing a cloud and leaving it bleeding little white wisps. The house itself was cream colored and looked like it had been recently painted. Indeed, it used to be polka dotted. The large windows that dotted the frightening facade at the front were all shut and blinded like a, uh... a bat. The path leading to the house waved back and forth drunkenly, never quite deciding which direction it wanted to go right up until it reached the shiny steps leading straight up to the small door.

So, to sum up: Big cream-colored house with closed windows. Crazy path leading up to nice steps and a strangely short door. We good? Good, let's move on.

I crept up to the door silently, like a silent creepy thing. Out of habit, I reached up to knock on the door but recoiled when I saw the door knocker. It was shaped like a flower! A flower! Eew, how girly. I withdrew my hand and made sure to give myself a preemptive cootie vaccine before I reached down to the brass doorknob and slowly drew the door open.

The inside of the house was dark, too dark if you ask me. As if some hellish beast was holding the building inside its shadowy fist. Then again, it was one A.M. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my “Super Robot Team Strike Force Go! Action!” flashlight and clicked it on quickly.

I remembered B.J. saying that his thing, whatever it was I still didn't remember, would probably be in the old man's bedroom. So, I stealed myself. Or is that steeled? Anyway, I readied myself and crept up the old rickety- Oh, wait, one second. I just realized I forgot to tell you what the inside of the house looked like.

So, uh, the inside of the house was pretty spacious, lots of fancy furniture and stuff too. It was pretty dark, so I couldn't really tell, but there seemed to be a flower pattern wallpaper all over the place, a pink one at that. Sinister pictures of small children playing happily together loomed over me as I explored. There was no dust anywhere, everything was suspiciously clean. It really creeped me out.

Anyway, I steal-steel-got ready and climbed up the stairs, which actually weren't very old or rickety. The hallway that I came into was essentially a row of doors on each side. I decided to try a random door and, using my psychic divination powers, plus the fact that the door had a sign that said "Grenard's Room", I entered the second door on the left. This room definitely had all the trappings of your average old man bedroom. A rocking chair, books. And there, on the bed was- I dropped the flashlight and had to clamp my hands over my mouth to stop from shouting. A corpse! A dead guy! There! On the bed! Dead! On the bed!

I closed my eyes, took a gulp of fresh air and looked around again. The corpse was still there, but it didn't look as scary. It almost looked like it was just sleeping. I quickly grabbed the flashlight from where I dropped it and swept it around the room. Finally, my eyes followed the flashlight beam to where my goal was. That's right, I was after a toothbrush! Good thing I remembered.

I crept up to the side of the bed and quickly grabbed the toothbrush from the nightstand where it was chilling out. I gave myself a congratulatory fist pump and then turned to leave and head home.

But then -- are you ready for this? -- then, the corpse on the bed made this horrible sucking noise and, to my horror, sat up. "My, my, my," the corpse said in its moth-eaten voice, "What do we have here?"

"I-I-I-," I mumbled, "Toothbrush!"

"Well, Mr. Toothbrush," the corpse said as it stood up slowly and slid its dentures into its mouth. "While you're here, would you like some milk and cookies?"

"W-w-what? Okay," I said. Who in their right mind would turn down milk and cookies, even if they were from a zombie?

So Mr. Zombie Grenard let me keep the toothbrush, he said he had found it on the ground and taken it home. After eating my milk and cookies and some ham I left, with a polite thank you of course. I guess zombies aren't so bad, after all.

Still, I thought as I wiped crumbs from my face, I was going to have to come up with a really scary story when I give the toothbrush back. Maybe there were like 5,000 ninja dinosaur robot zombies or something.